Next Week
by DreamALltHopeALlt
Summary: They were never both a country and a human at the same time. They were two different people- one country and one human. They shared each other's memories and thoughts; but what they didn't share: feelings, personalities, and worlds. *Full summary inside*
1. Full Summary & Intro

_**Full Summary:** They were never both a country and a human at the same time. They were two different people- one country and one human. They shared each other's memories and thoughts; but what they didn't share: feelings, personalities, and worlds. Every week, the countries wreck havoc on their world. Every other week, the human must cope with the insanity of the aftermaths, in his own world.  
_

_Alfred never understood why he couldn't remember the year 1947, or why he kept having the same dream about a person over and over again. Until one day, he's invited to a wedding in China, and he finds himself meeting that same person- someone who would change his entire life and the lives of every country in the world._

_~. _

And just in case the beginning of the summary is confusing, I added a translation too :'D

_**Translation:** A country is not human. A country exists in one world, and his/her human counterpart exists in another world. They share nothing but their memories and thoughts, but they don't share personalities (basically mean they can be total opposites from each other). However, when a country does something in their world, it greatly affects the human's world._

_~._

**Next Week**

Rated: **T  
**(May be changed to M, if you guys think it's best)

Language: **English**

**Drama/Romance**  
(But also Tragedy and Angst)

**Will I ever manage to finish this?**  
We shall see :D

**Btw, I made this random summary and information page because I just didn't like putting the full summary with the Prologue, so yeah C:  
***click next page*


	2. Prologue

The beginning of this fanfic will be VERY confusing, but please bare with me rofl. I think after a few more chapters, you guys will get it. If not then I fail. C:

Btw, throughout the story, the POV will switch between the country and the human. There are many ways you can tell if it is the country POV or the human POV, but in case it's still a "wtf this is confusing" blur, I'll help by putting H for Human and C for country. XD Also, dates are very, very important.

xxx

Chapter -inspiration- song: _Das tier in mir by E Nomine  
_(This song is very fitting since the singer is German :D)

* * *

**Prologue _(C - 1939)_:**

He tried to telephone the British and the French.

_No one picked up._

He tried to hide in the corner when the German walked by with the sharp, Swiss-army knife.

_His face was jerked up and pressed against the cold touch of steel and iron-hot blood. _

He tried to fight back, arms lashing out and tearing apart anything that came within his small, pitiful defense.

_The German grabbed both of his hands and shoved them through the knife, skewing each palm against one another in a twisted picture of prayer._

He tried to call again…

_The Brit picked up and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."_

He tried to make it back to his bloody area on the floor without attracting the German's attention.

_There was laughter and the sound of feet behind him, a sharp cracking sound right next to his ear: his neck felt hollow._

He tried to pled to the German- something he would never have done the Monday of the first attack- "Let me go," and still stubbornly made his point clear: he wouldn't give in.

_And then, on that gloomy and dark Sunday, the German finally agreed: "Alright," and left the room. _

He tried to control his horror and fear when, ten minutes later, a smiling figure entered the room behind the German.

_The signature rusty pipe, long scarf forever wrapped around the neck, and sadistic grin plastered all over his face, Russia greeted him: _

"_Privet, Poland!"_

~.

Germany stared down at the pathetic and terrified face of the Polish man and thought to himself, _Russia does in two seconds what I could never do in six whole days of torture. _He cast a cool glance over at the person standing beside him, who was also gazing at Poland with eyes desiring bloodshed and violence. Disgust and slight jealousy flickered briefly over Germany's face- _I dislike him, for both his yearning of war and the war he can induce with just one stare_- before settling back into its usual calm and coldness. After all, he had brought the Russian here for a reason and judging by the insurmountable panic on Poland's face, he'd made the right choice.

Poland could fight- something that surprised Germany when he invaded the man's house and began the first attack on the country- and he had resisted the German for far too long. Such a small country, Germany had deduced on Monday, would not be hard to tear down; besides, he saw how little Poland prepared for the attack, and thought only a slice here and there on the face would get the country submitting to him by Tuesday.

Now it was Sunday afternoon, and those green eyes were still holding strong. They only wavered at the sight of Russia. Russia and that infamous faucet pipe. Russia and his reputation for slowly and agonizily tormenting his victims until they wished they had obeyed every single word coming out of his mouth.

_Russia…which I'll have to destroy after this day._

"I will give two choices, da?" He smiled and dropped his weapon on the ground with a clank. "You must answer me correctly or suffer. Now…

"Will you admit defeat?"

Germany could see that bloodied lip forming the words. Softly, defiantly. "No."

In one swift movement, the pipe smashed into the side of Poland's skull. There was a loud crack, a short whimper of pain, and the largest pool of blood already on the floor.

"Wrong!" Russia giggled.

Smiling, he turned to Germany, "Are you done with him? If not, may I start?"

Germany inclined his head and stepped back. He lowered his eyes, "Do as you see fit."

Poland's screams seem to shake the house.

Even Germany, who had closed his heart to the pain of other, found it hard to listen to. That and coupled with Russia's insane laughter and the crunching and splashing sound of bones and blood was enough to make him leave the room. He thought himself heartless now, considered himself beyond all these weak emotions now- after all, what he planned to do after he took over Poland would make Russia's torture nothing in comparison- but still, he couldn't block out those bone-chilling screams.

2 hours later, when the door to the living room opened, Russia cheerfully disposited Poland in front of Germany. "I am finished," the giant said in a happy but slightly disappointed tone. "But it is odd… he still does not agree to defeat."

The thing trembling in front of Germany was not a country anymore- it was a red-drenched, hate-filled creature. Those green eyes were split in half, more of a bruised yellow than anything, and that body was nothing but a shriveled and twisted lump of a raisin, crushed within itself again and again.

And when he opened his mouth to talk, the garbled words were low and barely recognizable.

"What?" Germany leered, "Do you wish to say something, Poland?"

A trickle of blood slipped from both his eyes and mouth. "..Y..y-yo..u…a..a-ar..e…m…m..m-mon…s-sst…ers…"

_You do not deserve to live… You are not human._

Germany didn't have to hear those words to see them reflected in Poland's hateful gaze. He didn't have to hear those words to feel the sudden and harrowing wave of anger and… _guilt?_

Guilt.

He narrowed his eyes: _What right did Poland have to make him feel guilty?_

"That is not very nice, da?" Russia's never-ending smile twisted slightly. He raised the pipe for another blow; Poland closed his eyes and leaned back, wincing.

Nothing happened.

Surprised, Russia's gaze went to the hand holding back his faucet and attack; Poland returned the cold blue eyes that glared down at him with a mixture of expectancy and apprehension.

How many years had he planned this out? How much effort had he put into this operation, so that only success was the end result, and that nothing could deter him from the course? How much time did he waste, spending days and meetings playing the quiet and docile "Germany" so that no one would ever expect what he was about to do now?

How many sacrifices did he make just to ensure that the stupid and idiotic feelings of humanity wouldn't cause any random bouts of regret, so that he wouldn't back out at the last minute?

_Now all I do is see that… those words in his eyes, and I feel _guilty_?_

Germany sank to his knee, leveling with the Polish man. Nothing but an icy and rough hatred poured from him.

"We are not humans," he whispered, and touched Poland's left cheek. Poland stared, terrified, as Germany slowly took the pipe from Russia's hands. He brushed the blunt tip of the weapon against the other cheek. "You call us monsters…" The side switched- spigot and sharp edged handles now. "But you have forgotten one little thing…"

The arm came up, fast and abrupt.

"_We are countries."_

Blood flew in the air;

Russia's demonic laughter echoed around the house;

And Germany…

His eyes were alight in the most avid and darkest pleasure, watching the choking and gurgling from the creature beneath his feet.

He ripped the faucet back out from the throat of his victim and smiled.

September 1939: Poland was invaded.

It was the first time in the history of the world that a country died.

* * *

**A/N**: Reviews and, or suggestions are welcomed. As long as they're not rude or anything C:


	3. Chapter One

Omg, FIFA World Cup month!

And zomg, Germany vs Aus. today~ Go Germany! even though I won't be able to see the match ]:

Enjoy teh chapter and don't forget to watch some soccer :'D

xxx

Chapter -inspiration- song: _Breathe Me By Sia_

* * *

**Chapter One _(H - 1949)_:**

_The kite was flying above his head. _

_A brilliant blue and violet, with streamers flowing from the back of the rhombus figure. It dipped in and out of his vision, eclipsing the sun for a brief second before continuing to drift lazily in the air. He stared at it, transfixed by the simple beauty and ease at which the object could remain in the air, without anything dragging it down or pressing it back down from space. _

_Watching it drift in the sky, he thought to himself, if something like that had the power to sustain its mass in the air- without assistance from anything else- then the possibilities for future space exploration was endless. Why, if one could throw any object that heavy into the sapphire sky and that object could somehow propel itself through the clouds and out the atmosphere, so many unimaginable wonders would finally be revealed! _

_He grinned excitedly at the thought, glancing past the kite and into the vast blue beyond. _

_They always called him a dreamer, a person who had his head forever stuck in the clouds. Well, he couldn't really deny it- he loved the mystery of space and the world above their rocky Earth. _

_And why wouldn't he? In this vast universe, there were so many wonders to explore, so many things that mystified him, quirked his curiosity and sense of adventure, and made him think. What could be waiting up there- waiting to be discovered by him? He could just imagine reaching his hands up, being able to touch those marshmallowy clouds, being able to look around him, at an alien landscape that was both fearsome and yet dazzling in beauty at the same time… He could imagine the feeling of being lifted through those pure-white clouds and speeding away past layers of air and wind, clamorous and dropping temperatures, and just as those elements hammered around him, he would come out the other side into a frozen and perfect picture of black- empty and silent peace. In space. _

…

"_Space, huh?"_

_He sighed. _

_That was the problem with being a dreamer. He could dream; dream and hope and keep looking up at the sky and imagine. But then…then what? He had tried so many times before to build something that would make the dreams become reality, to invent something that could remain in the air and reach out forwards and into the distant._

_Nothing had worked- none of his many machines and inventions had stood a chance in the air- they couldn't even survive a few minutes suspended over the clouds... _

But the kite.

_His eyes darted back to the object again, still suspended and dancing where he'd last seen it. There was something so profoundly unique about this particular kite- twirling in rhythm to a mystical dance- as though it was a jellyfish gliding across the world's largest ocean, without a single care in the world. He wasn't new to the concept of kites. He _knew _what kites were, had seen more than his fair share of them in the past few years (hell, probably one of the first few kites had been specially hand-made by him). They were everywhere these days, drifting through beaches or at random parks, littering the sky with bursting colors of red, orange, yellow, blue, green- stacked upon and within each other. This blue-purple kite shouldn't have been an exception to the normality; even if the breath-taking design was meticulously drawn and airbrushed on, and even if the beautiful streamers seem to be composed of some strange, unearthly material._

_No, what made it so different and astonishingly impossible - and he kept staring with such an awed and amazed expression on his face- was the exterior component of the kite…_

"_Metal." _

_It was completely and entirely composed of _metal_._

_

* * *

_

xxx

* * *

That evening, when Ivan Braginski came back home after a long trip to Omsk, he was ready to crawl in bed and sleep for the next ten hours. The jetlag had taken a large toll on his weary body and the tensions of the next few day's events pressed down on him. It even took energy just to insert the key into the lock, turn the knob, and stumble into the dimly-lit apartment. He had to admit the only thing that kept him from just collapsing on the couch and sleeping was the thought of a certain person waiting for him.

Well, "waiting" wouldn't exactly be the right words- she was never the type to wait on anyone, least of all him. But Ivan smiled and pretended anyway- that she would be perched on the edge of their bed; she would look up and cast him an annoyed yet relieved glare, trying to hide her relief at his return. His eyes softened at the thought, and the smile grew wider at the thought of something else: something extremely wonderful- almost like a dream come true- that would happen in only a couple more days…

_Marriage._

He dropped his bags and heavy coat on the ground, and entered the living room. Mood slightly more cheerful now that he was home and his thoughts were focused on _her_, Ivan did a cursory scan around the kitchen and the smaller bedroom, before proceeding to their room.

The door was closed tight, and for a brief moment, Ivan hesitated. Then he shook his head, ignoring the ominous feeling in his chest. "Yao?" he called as he entered the slightly dark room.

Ivan found her as he had imagined earlier- perched on the edge of the bed, staring into space. But his heart gave a lurch when he saw the tears streaming down her face, her shoulders racked with sobs.

That was when the reality of the situation hit him- followed by an immense wave of guilt. _How could I have been so happy while she was suffering? _

"Are you okay?" He slowly touched one of Yao's shoulders, but pulled back at her flinch.

"I am not," she whispered, hair untied and flowing freely around her body. "I am not, but what else can I do?" Yao turned to him, face filled with unrelenting pain and despair. He couldn't help but think that even in sorrow, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

She let him wrap his arms around her. But when she felt the presence of his lips near her mouth, Yao glared so hatefully that Ivan fell back at once. "Forgive me," he murmured. "I was only trying to comfort you."

Her gaze softened at the hurt in his eyes. "It is okay, but please… do not try anything with me."

_Because I do not love you._

"…I promise I will not."

Yao finally gave into a weak smile, touching his cheek. "I am so rude," she whispered, "I never asked…How was your trip to Omsk?"

Ivan's eyes grew dark at the memory. His journey over to cold, icy Omsk, in the very west of Russia, had only been for political and country-related business. Needless to say, it was far from being fun.

"Decent enough," he reluctantly said, "At least the people were more civilized there than in Bayern, and I was not forced to eat only wursts… the villagers prepared _borsch _and _okroshka _that was surprisingly delightful and tasty." Ivan couldn't help but smile. "They brought back many memories of _Rossiya _and nostalgically cold winters in the years that I lived there. I had almost forgotten the taste and scents of those days… the good days."

He hoped she hadn't noticed the slight tremor in his voice; there was nothing to read in her clear, brown eyes. But when she spoke again, her own voice was understanding, "You miss Russia, do you not?"

Ivan lowered his gaze. "Sometimes."

"You are sacrificing a lot for me," she leaned her head to the side, eyes soft. "By moving here to China, by leaving your native country and your people. Ivan…"

Yao pulled her legs up to her chest, silent as she watched Ivan press his body closer to her. "Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt, _милая_?"

"Here." She placed a fragile hand on her heart. "In here…do you feel like you are suffocating, at times? As though no matter how hard you try, you cannot get rid of the unhappiness there?"

_Yes. _

_All the time… Especially when I am in Russia, alone with only the hateful cold and blizzard snow. But since you have entered my life, the pain has become a little bit more bearable. _

He wanted to tell her that- to tell her what she really meant to him- but only a pathetic "Da," came out.

Yao nodded slowly. She closed her eyes and gave a shuddering breath. "I have felt such feelings for awhile now… and today, I could not control those idiotic tears… I could not stop crying at the thought of…"

_At the thought of our marriage_, he knew she wanted to say.

Even if the words were evident on her face, even if he had known for many, many years now, Ivan still couldn't control the awful hurt in his chest. "I am sorry," he whispered.

Yao turned to stare at him, sensing the bitterness in his tone. "_Bùyào dānxīn_. It is not your fault." Those gentle brown orbs scrunched up in worry. "Why are you apologizing, Ivan?"

He liked that concern on her face, liked the hand that was gently caressing his cheek…liked knowing that, even if it was only for a short time- even if it was only in her nature to feel pity for the lowliest dog on the streets- she _cared _about him. Ivan closed his eyes, like Yao had done, and leaned his face closer to her hand. The coolness of her touch was calming and he found himself giving in to a smile. "I am fine, _моя любовь_," he whispered and buried his head against her soft hair.

Yao was still staring at him, as though she wanted to say something about his strange behavior, but then realized that- just barely noticeable- Ivan was trembling. Trembling beneath that fake facade of words. She smiled, tightening her arms around the Russian. "_Zhè shì hǎo de_, Ivan," she murmured.

"_Прости, я не могу сделать тебя счастливой…_"

_I am sorry I cannot make you happy._

_

* * *

_

xxx

* * *

_He just kept standing there, rooted to the spot, and incapable of looking away from the metal, violet-azure kite in the sk__y. It was just so _hypnotic_. As though it was calling out to him, commanding his gaze on its majestic form, forever locking him in its heavy embrace…_

_Warning him._

_Almost instantly- on cue- there was the sound of shuffling feet to his left. At the same time, the kite gave a strange lurch in the air, dipping towards the ground and then raising back up. It was like the person holding onto the string had accidentally tilted it too low and only managed to bring it back in the air at the last minute. _

_He would have ignored whoever was beside him- the lure of the kite made it hard to look away anyway- but then that person spoke up: _

"_Did you know?"_

_The voice sounded muffled, coming from a distance, but that couldn't be right. He was positive that the person was standing only a few paces next to him…_

_Slowly he turned his head to the left, eyes wide and curious as to who the voice- one with such a low and soft tenor- belonged to._

_What he saw was surprising: Nothing but a mess of blurs. _

_There was the person- smiling at him?- a tall man with short hair and wearing some sort of coat. He saw the person's hand poised mid-air, a sliver of string extending to the sky, and then that voice was talking again, "Have you an idea who built this kite, Alfred?" _

_He squinted. It was so hard to make out the person's face, hard to make out anything but splotches and spots of entwined colors. Then he froze, just now realizing the depth of the man's question. "You know my name?" He was afraid to take a step towards the kite-holder, afraid of what was happening to him: Why was his vision so foggy and blurry? Why couldn't he make out the shape, the details of that face?_

Who _was this person?_

_A laugh, but it came out slightly deranged and cold. The man's head lifted towards the sky, his next words soft with pain and sadness. "Is this the year now? I had forgotten to keep track of the date, what with all the proxy wars America and Russia has been dealing, there isn't much time to worry about anything else…" The person's hands slacken, his hold on the string loosened and for one brief and terrifying second, Alfred watched the kite tilt and stumble in the air. The sight was sad- liken to a bird whose wing had been wounded and was struggling to remain upright. _

"_Keep it steady!" Alfred shouted and grabbed the person's hand in his, yanking the string left and right in an attempt to keep the kite flying. But it was hopeless- the fragile thing continued to twist and turn, slowly losing balance in the blueness of the sky, and only when he turned and pleadingly stared at his partner did Alfred realize that he could now see that face. That face and the sadness in those eyes. _

"_I built it," the person said, and the hand in his turned oddly cold, "And you have destroyed it… Tomorrow, next week, you will not remember. A blessing, wouldn't it be?"_

"_-You built the metal kite?"_

_Alfred barely had time to blurt out those words when the kite itself- majestic, beautiful bird- fell to the ground in a dead heap, and the hand in his was suddenly yanked away. In the few seconds he had time to react, 4 strange digits flashed before his eyes, red and hastily scrawled: 1-9-4-7; they burned into his mind, numbers that he knew he should never forget, before disappearing from his vision. There was the screeching sound of iron passing through the air and the touch of cold metal slamming into the side of his head…_

_His vision grew weak, his body fell to the ground, blood cascaded from the skull… But one last image loomed out from the darkness engulfing his mind: _

_A pair of eyes. Lovely, lovely violet._

_

* * *

_

~.

* * *

When Alfred F. Jones woke up that Monday morning, with sunlight streaming through the window and into his bedroom, with the birds delightfully singing outside and the sound of Arthur cooking burnt scones for breakfast, he instantly knew what was going to happen that day.

He knew it because the birds only chirped ever so happily on these mornings.

He knew it because Arthur only made scones- burning them badly in the process- on these mornings.

He knew it because his twin brother Matthew only raced up into his room and said the words, "Wake up! We're moving, remember?" on these mornings.

But the main reason was because he knew, as he stared out the window and into the burning glare of the sun, that the dream only haunted him on these mornings.

"_We're moving to China, Alfred!"_

"_Why?"_

_There was the hint of a smile on Matthew's face, a blush, "We're going to a _wedding_."_

And he couldn't seem shake the image of those wide, amethyst eyes from his mind.

* * *

**Translations**:

Russian:

_милая _- darling

_моя любовь _- my love

_Прости, я не могу сделать тебя счастливой… _- I am sorry I cannot make you happy...

~.

Chinese:

_Bùyào dānxīn _- Do not worry

_Zhè shì hǎo de _- It is okay_  
_

* * *

**A/N**: Do I get 10 sunflowers or what for making Yao a girl? XD (Btw, it happened cuz of my hubby's mistake on Yao's genderism while we were watching the anime :3 ily Alex)  
You guys have no idea how much I was suffering when I wrote the Ivan/Yao part... Me = VERY anti Ivan x Yao pairing ~.~

Many thanks to RusCSI for the Russian food examples, and correct translations :3  
If there are mistakes with any of the other translations, please tell me. I used Google for them, so yeah. C:

Reviews would be awesome, too.


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